Just a Kiss
by aboh
Summary: Kaiba ponders over the simple kisses from his twin soul. SetoSeth. Yaoi. Slash. R&R.


Part: 1/1  
Pairing: Seto/Seth  
Warning: enough sap to make you sick for three days.  
Summary: Kaiba ponders over the simple kisses from his twin soul.  
Disclaimer: If YGO belongs to me, many will lose their life, not just losing conscinousness due to some silly card games.

A/N: Sorry for writing a new story when _Ashes to Ashes_ is still not finished. I get stuck and don't know where I want to go from there. This one is the result of my need for a dose of Seto/Seth .  
I have a picture which you may want to look. It's for the other fic but...I like to advertise.  
geocities .com/seinengappi/illust/yuart036.html  
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There are many things that defy my logic. Like how I became a Kaiba, how I lost to Yugi, how I came to meet him, and how the elusiveness of his kisses bothers me.

He likes to kiss me anywhere and anytime, as unpredictable and unreasonable like the fluctuating mood of a petulant child. His kisses always seem chaste but not quite. His lips will brush over mine fleetingly and linger along the corners of my lips as long fingers run lightly over my cheeks in some indistinct pattern. He keeps space from me, still violating my personal space but it leaves room for me either to pull away or press forward. I always do neither and he has yet gone further than that, seeming content with himself and everything. Sometimes, I check my watch, just right when his palm touches me and again when it leaves. His kiss lasts for a total thirty seconds and it stays around that number every single time, precise as if under careful calculations. When he pulls away, however, the light brings out the color of his eyes and there is a half smile on his red lips, foreign for its softness and prettiness. Often, I will turn away and return to whatever I have been doing -- working, studying, reading... anything but looking at his face and seeing what I don't want to see.

I've kissed before, many of them, both males and females. Being a CEO, I simply have to be good at it even if I am considered cold and indifferent. That, however, does not mean I like doing it. I don't even like human contact and a slight stroke on my arm is enough to bring me irritation.

And yet, I find myself tolerate his provocation. I try to reason the whys and how's and that he is not an exception in my eyes. Perhaps, I can stand him because of his full smooth lips, the gentleness of his hands which never stray below the junction of my neck and shoulders, or the faint scent of fresh and clean waterlily which is different from the expensive cologne I always wear.

During daylight, I stand his little attention and then stride away with the ever confidence that exudes with my looks and gestures. At night, when he has retreated back to the realm of shadow where my imagination cannot stretch forward, I lie and look blankly at the dark ceiling as my mind drifts to the fluttering of robe around the corner, warm fingers that send delicious shivers down my spine, and the mesmerizing shade of blue under long eyelashes. I kiss my fingers and touch myself where he has touched -- eyes, cheeks, jaw, lips, neck -- until I feel feverish.

It is a danger game, like playing with cold blue fire, kissing but not kissing, touching but not touching, wanting to do something but not doing anything. In the beginning, it was surprise and confusion that kept me passive. Later, when I am so used to his kiss that I expect it, there is nothing to make me look at him coldly but self-control. Expect it and try not to show that I do. Know it will come but will do nothing to it. Restrain. Have no rash action. Try not to think and feel, not to show any emotion or thought.

Sometimes, I wonder if there will be a day when my facade crumbles and I will be weak and bare with want and need.

This is but a game that I will play. Just simply think that I don't like him at all and it will be easier to maintain the illusion around me.

Everything about him is unacceptable just as his approach to me, slow and deliberate although not entirely careful. If I don't catch myself, I may consider that he wants me to know that he's coming and allows me time to think and react. As ever, his touches come first, as light and gentle a night breeze on grass. It moves so effortlessly on my hair and against my scalp. This time, he looks at me long and searchingly, then drops his gaze and pulls back.

The touch gone, his withdrawal feels like a betrayal.

"Sorry," he says and suddenly cold fear coils in my stomach as I realize what he is about to say.

"You don't want me. You don't like me. I used to think that you being me entitled me the rights to take away anything which I felt was right. Then, I soon realized that in many sense, you and I were not the same. You don't know the sunlight that streams over the Nile and shines on the pyramids. You call the life energy that brings forth my kaa 'hocus-pocus'. Many times, I try to stop seeing you but it is difficult because I feel... unsafe... insecure... uncertain without the physical assurance that there is, indeed, someone who wants me to stay in this so-called Japan, 3000 years away from Kemet. I keep thinking about this dysfunctional relationship and mayhap, this is the right time to acknowledge the truth and withdra..."

"Shut up!" I snap. "Shut up. You talk too much."

It is all his fault, for coming here and provoking me in the first place. Why did he have to say something that hurts? Why did he have to look so forlorn and rejected?

I take his face in my hands and show him what a real kiss is, certainly not one of his tiny kisses that teases languorously along the curved lines of my lips. I kiss him with intimacy, full and wet, with my knuckles stroking his cheekbone. It is not until he trembles and opens his mouth that I lose it. All restrains and cautions forgotten, lips, teeth, and tongue meet in urgent need, tasting, sucking, biting. Passion and desire being fulfilled, his body, all small curves, linesand angles, melts into mine so right. My hands or his are clutching so hard that there will be bruises left for days but I no longer care. I can't stop at this moment and I don't want to. Let me consumed and burnt in the white blue light which is him. Let me fall and sink too deep that I cannot recover from it.

Things will change between us but my feeling is the same -- I like him and I like him too much.


End file.
